Page 10 of The Laird's Secret Bairn

“That’s blackmail,” she accused, taking a step back.

“Call it what ye like.” He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back. “I could just as easily claim ye as mine in truth, lass. Turn the fake betrothal real if that is what ye like, but the decision is yers. What will it be, then?”

She stared at him, stunned. She wanted love, not convenience, if she ever married at all. But loneliness was its own kind of hunger, and she’d been starved of company longer than she liked to admit.

She found herself actually considering the arrangement, but that was mad. Agreeing to such a thing, even though she could get the ending to her story, was not something she should consider.

But she was, and that was what scared her.

“And if I refuse the whole arrangement?”

“Then I suppose the Highlands will keep wondering whether their favorite author is a man hiding behind a false name, or something far more scandalous.” His eyes glinted. “As I said, yer choice, lass.”

“Ye truly are a monster,” Skye huffed.

The man chuckled. He took the insult she hurled at him in stride, barely even giving it much thought. Skye wondered how often he was called a monster for him to let it roll off him as if nothing had been spoken.

Far too often, she imagined. But any pity she might have felt for him vanished when he threatened to blackmail her. She would not allow herself to be blackmailed!

“So I’ve been told.” He didn’t look bothered by the accusation in the slightest. “But a month isnae so long. Ye get the ending to yer story, I get me reputation back. Nobody else needs to ken the truth of either. Then ye can come back here and live out the rest of yer life.”

“Just like that?”

“Aye. Ye walk away. Alive, well, free to write whatever foolishness ye please about whichever laird ye please.” A pause. “Though I confess I’d rather ye write about me a while longer.”

She flushed despite herself. “Fine. A month.”

The words once again tumbled past her lips before she realized what she was doing.

What had she agreed to?

A deal with a monster, that much she was sure of.

"Good lass," he murmured.

Skye felt her cheeks burn and a tingling where his lips touched her hand. She drew it back gently, tucking it against her skirts as though she could hide the warmth still lingering there.

"Being alone with the Lion of the Highlands is trouble enough without lingering over it," she said, trying for lightness and only half managing it.

"Is that what ye call me, then?" His mouth curved, though there was something sharper beneath the amusement. "Ye seem to ken everything about me already—me reputation, me rumors, even the shape of me sins, if the whispers are to be believed. And yet I got a confession out of ye tonight, lass, but nae yer name."

Skye blinked, caught out. In all the strangeness of the evening—the blackmail, the bargain, the way he'd looked at her like he meant to memorize her—she realized she'd never actually told him.

"Skye," she said. "Skye MacLeod."

"Skye." He said it slowly, testing the shape of it, as though he meant to keep it somewhere he wouldn't misplace it. "A fitting name for a lass who came chasing after a man half the Highlands is too feart to look in the eye."

"I wasnae chasing ye."

"Nay?" One dark brow lifted. "Ye followed me out into the cold, alone, uninvited. I willnae quarrel over the word, if it troubles ye so."

Her cheeks burned hotter, and she was grateful for the dark. Voices carried from the path behind them, and laughter drifted closer. The guests must be wandering back from the hall.

Skye gathered her skirts in alarm. No one could see them here. It was bad enough that she had rushed out after the man. She could excuse it as needing to take the air, but if they were caught talking, then it was over. There would be no excuse she could use.

She took a shaky breath, reluctant to break the moment. "I should go before?—"

"Before anyone sees ye alone with the Lion of the Highlands?" His mouth curved.